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TAM O SHANTER; 

A TALE, 

g BY ROBERT BURNS. 

WITH AN APPENDIX, 

AND 

OBSERVATIONS ON THE STATUES 

OF 

TAM O' SHANTER, SOUTER JOHNNY, 

THE LANDLORD, % LANDLADY, 
NOW EXHIBITING. 



Soirton : 

PRINTED BY C. HANDY, 50, BREWER STREET, GOLDEN SQUARE. 

1830. 



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TAM O SHANTER 

A TALE, 



When chapmen billies leave the street, 
And drouthy neebors, neebors meet, 
As market-days are wearin late, 
And fouk begin to tak the gate; 
While we sit bousin at the nappy, 
And getting fou and unco happy, 
We think nae on the lang Scots miles, 
The mosses, waters, slaps, and stiles, 
That lie between us and our hame, 
Whare sits our sulky sullen dame, 
Gatherin her brows like gatherin storm, 
Nursin her wrath to keep it warm. 

This truth fand honest Tam o' Shanter, 
As he from Ayr ae night did canter, 
(Auld Ayr, wham ne'er a town surpasses 
For honest men and bonny lasses.) 

O Tam ! hadst thou but seen sae wise, 
As ta'en thy ain wife Kate's advice ! 
She tauld thee weel thou was a skelium, 
A blethering, blustering, drunken blellum ; 
That, frae November till October, 
Ae market-day thou was na sober \ 



That ilka raelder wi' the miller, 
Thou sat as lang as thou had siller ; 
That every naig was ca'd a shoe on, 
The smith and thee gat roarin fou on ; 
That at the L — d's house, ^ven on Sunday, 
Thou drank wi' Kirton Jean till Monday. 
She prophesied that, late or soon, 
Thou wad be found deep drown'd in Doon ; 
Or catch'd wi' warlocks in the mirk, 
By Alloway's auld haunted kirk. 

Ah, gentle dames ! it gars me greet, 
To think how mony counsels sweet, 
How mony lengthened sage advices, 
The husband frae the wife despises! 

But to our tale : Ae market night, 
Tam had got planted unco right ; 
Fast by an ingle, bleezing finely, 
Wi' reaming swats that drank divinely ; 
And at his elbow Souter * Johnny, 
His ancient, trusty, drouthy crony ; 
Tam loed him like a very brither ; 
They had been fou f for weeks thegither. 
The night drove on wi' sangs and clatter; 
And aye the ale was growin better ; 
The Landlady and Tam grew gracious, 
Wi' favours secret, sweet and precious ; 
The Souter tauld his queerest stories ; 
The Landlord's laugh was ready chorus ; 
The storm without might rare and rustle, 
Tam didna mind the storm a whistle. 

* Cobbler. f Tipsey. 



Care, mad to see a man sae happy, 
E'en drown'd hiniseP amang the nappy: 
As bees flee hame wi' lades o' treasure, 
The minutes wing'd their way wi' pleasure : 
Kings may be blest, but Tam was glorious, 
O'er -a' the ills 6* life victorious? 

But pleasures are like poppies spread, 
You seize the flower, its bloom is shed ; 
Or like the snow falls in the river, 
A moment white — then melts for ever; 
Or like the borealis race, 
That flit ere you can point their place ; 
Or like the rainbow's lovely form 
Evanishing amid the storm. — 
Nae man can tether time or tide; 
The hour approaches Tam maun ride ; 
That hour, o' night's black arch the key-stane 
That dreary hour he mounts his beast in ; 
And sic a night he takes the road in 
As ne'er puir sinner was abroad in. 

The wind blew as 'twad blawn its last ; 
The ratling showers rose on the blast ; 
The speedy gleams the darkness swallow'd ; 
Loud, deep, and lang the thunder bellow'd; 
That night a child might understand 
The deil had business on his hand. 

Weel mounted on his grey mare Meg, 
A better never lifted leg, 
Tam skelpit on thro' dub and mire, 
Despising wind, and rain, and fire ; 
Whiles hauding fast his gude blue bonnet; 
Whiles crooning o'er some auld Scots sonnet ; 



6 

Whiles glow'ring round wi' prudent cares, 
Lest bogles catch him unawares ; 
Kirk-Alloway was drawing nigh, 
Whare ghaists and houlets nightly cry. 

By this time he was cross the ford, 
Whare in the snaw the chapman smoor'd ; 
And past the birks and ineikle stane, 
W 7 hare drunken Charlie brak's neck-bone; 
And thro' the whins, and by the cairn, 
Whare hunters fand the murder' d bairn ; 
And near the thorn, aboon the well, 
Whare Mungo's mither hang'd herself. — 
Before him Doon pours a' his floods; 
The doubling storm roars through the wood's ; 
The lightnings flash from pole to pole; 
Near and more near the thunders roll ; 
When, glimmering thro' the groaning trees, 
Kirk-Alloway seem'd in a bleeze ; 
Thro' ilka bore the beams were glancing; 
And loud resounded mirth and dancing. — 

Inspiring bold John Barleycorn ! 
What dangers thou canst make as scorn ! 
Wi' tippenny we fear nae evil ; 
Wi usquabae we'll face the devil ! — 
The swats sae ream'd in Tammie's noddle, 
Fair play, he cared na deils a bodle. 
But Maggie stood right sair astonish'd, 
Till, by the heel and hand admonish'd, 
She ventured forward on the light; 
And, vow ! Tam saw an unco sight ! 
Warlocks and witches in a dance ; 
Nae cottillion brent new frae France. 



But hornpipes, jigs, strathspeys, and reels, 

Put life and mettle in their heels. 

A winnock-bunker in the east, 

There sat auld Nick in shape o' beast ; 

A towzie tyke, black, grim, and large, 

To gie them music was his charge : 

He sere w'd the pipes and gart them skirl, 

Till roof and rafters a' did dril. — 

Coffins stood round like open presses, 

That shaw'd the dead in their last dresses; 

And by some devilish cantrip sleight, 

Each in its cauld hand held a light, — 

By which heroic Tam. was able 

To note upon the haly table, 

A murderer's banes in gibbet aims; 

Twa span-lang, we, unchristen'd bairns ; 

A thief, new-cutted frae a raip, 

Wi' his last gasp his gab did gape ; 

Five tomahawks, wi' blude red-rusted; 

Five scimitars, wi' murder crusted ; 

A garter, which a babe had strangled ; 

A knife, a fathers throat had mangled, 

Whom his ain son o' life bereft, 

The grey hairs yet stack to the heft ; 

Wi' mair o' horrible and awfu', 

Which even to name wad be unlawfu'. 

As Tammie glowr'd, amazed, and curious, 
The mirth and fun grew fast and furious : 
The piper loud and louder blew ; 
The dancers quick and quicker flew ; 
They reel'd, they set, they cross'd, they cleekit, 
Till ilka carlin swat and reekit, 



§ 

And coost her duddies to the wark, 
And linket at it in her sark ; 
Now Tam, O Tam ! had thae been queans, 
A' plump and strapping in their teens ; 
Their sarks, instead o' creeshie flannen, 
Been snaw-white se'enteen-hunder linen ! 
Thir breeks o' mine, my only pair, 
That ance were plush o' guid blue hair, 
I wad hae gi'en them off my hurdies, 
For ae blink o' the bonnie burdies ! 

But withered beldams, auld and droll, 
Bigwoodie hags wad spean a foal, 
Lowping and flinging on a crummock, 
I wonder didna turn thy stomach. 

But Tam kenn'd what was what fu' brawl ie, 
There was ae winsome wench and walie, 
That night enlisted in the core, 
(Lang after kenn'd on Carrik shore ! 
For mony a beast to dead she shot, 
And perish'd mony a bonny boat, 
And shook baith muckle corn and bear, 
And kept the country side in fear ;) 
Her cutty sark, o' Paisley harn, 
That while a lassie she had worn, 
In longitude tho' sorely scanty, 
It was her best, and she was vauntie.— 
Ah ! little kenn'd thy reverend grannie, 
That sark she coft for her wee Nannie, 
Wi' twa pund Scots, ('twas a' her riches,) 
Wad ever graced a dance of witches ! 

But here my muse her wing maun cour ; 
Sic flights are far beyond her pow'r > 



9 

To sing how Nannie lap and flang, 

(A souple jade she was and Strang,) 

And how Tam stood, like ane bewitch'd 

And thought is very een enrich'd ; 

Even Satin glowr'd and fidged fu'fain, 

And hotch'd and blew wi' might and main : 

Till first a caper, syne anither, 

Tan tint his reason a'thegither, 

And roars out, iC Well done, Cutty-sark ! 

And in an instant a' was dark : 

And scarcely had he Maggie rallied, 

When out the hellish legion sallied. 

As bees bizz out wi' angry fyke, 
When plundering herds assail their byke ; 
As open pussie's mortal foes, 
When, pop ! she starts before their nose ; 
As eager runs the market-crowd, 
When " Catch the thief!" resounds aloud ; 
So Maggie runs the witches follow, 
Wi' monie an eldritch skreech and hollow. 

Ah, Tam ! ah, Tam ! thou'lt get thy fairin! 
Iu hell they'll roast the like a herrin ! 
In vain thy Kate awaits thy coming! 
Kate soon will be a waefu' woman ! 
Now, do thy speedy utmost Meg, 
And win the key-stane* o' the brig; 

* It is a well-known fact, that witches, or any evil spirits, have 
no power to follow a poor wight any farther than the middle of 
the next running stream. — It may be proper likewise to mention 
to the benighted traveller, that when he falls in with bogles, what- 
ever danger may be in is going forward, there is much more 
hazard in turning back. 



10 

There at them thou thy tail may toss, 
A running stream they darena cross. 
But ere the key-stane she could make, 
The fient a tail she had to shake; 
For Nannie, far before the rest, 
Hard upon noble Maggie prest, 
And flew at Tam wi' furious ettle ; 
But little wist she Maggie's mettle — 
Ae spring* brought off her master hale, 
But left behind her ain grey tail : 
The carlin caught her by the rump, 
And left poor Maggie scarce a stump* 

Now, wha this tale o' truth shall read, 
Ilk man and mother's son, tak heed : 
Whene'er to drink you are inclined, 
Or cutty-sarks run in your mind, 
Think, ye may buy the joys o'er dear, 
Remember Tam o 5 Shanter's mare* 



APPENDIX, 

CONTAINING EXTRACTS FROM THE PUBLIC JOURNALS 
RESPECTING 

31R. THOl's STATUES. 



The scene of this celebrated Tale — a Tale 
which Byron who was no mean judge of poetic 
merit, has described as one of the best that ever 
was written, both as to its design and execution. 
The scene of this Tale is laid in the near neigh- 
bourhood of the Town of Ayr, a Sea-port, on the 
west coast of Scotland, which has long been 
celebrated in Scottish history, as the place, where, 
at a general assembly of the Estates, in a full meet- 
ing, the Crown was confirmed to Bruce, by the 
unanimous sufferage of all orders, after he had 
succeeded in establishing the independence of his 
country. But the poetry of Burns has given to 
this town another and more enduring kind of 
celebrity. Every one that has read his works, and 
who has not ? must be well acquainted with the 
beauties of Ayrshire, as described in the glowing 
language of the poet, though uninformed as to the 



12 

local position of the places he describes. At the 
distance of about a mile and a half south from 
this town, stands the cottage in which Burns was 
born, now occupied as an Ale-house, and as a 
resting place for strangers from all parts of the 
Kingdom, where they have the means of quenching 
their thirst, whilst they gratify their curiosity, and 
get their names recorded as pilgrims to the land 
of Burns, in a book kept for this purpose. Half 
a mile farther south are the ruins of c( Allowa's 
auld haunted kirk," now without a roof, but very 
much perhaps in the state it was, when the Poet 
made his hero see it, by the dint of witchcraft, or 
by the inspiration of whisky all in flames. 

" It is on the spot almost where he was born" 
(says Lockhart, in his Life of Burns, in 
reference to his tale Tam o' Shanter) "that 
Burns lays the scene of that remarkable perform- 
ance \ and all the terrific circumstances by which 
he has marked the progress of Tam's midnight 
journey, are drawu from local tradition. Nor was 
Tam o' Shanter himself an imaginary character. 
Shanter is a farm, close to Kirkoswald, that 
smuggling village in which Burns, when nineteen 
years old, studied mensuration. The then occu- 
pier of Shanter, by name Douglas Grahame, 
was, by all accounts, what the Tam of the Poet 
appears — a jolly, careless rustic, who took much 
more interest in the contraband traffic of the coast, 
than in the rotation of crops." 



13 

Part of Mr. Thom's illustrations are now 
pretty generally known; wherever his figures of 
Tam o' Shanter and Souter Johnny have 
been exhibited, they have been equally admired 
by the scientific, and those unskilled in the works 
of art. 

*' The spirit of Burns as evinced in the most 
gifted of all his productions, has been seized 
and rivalled, if not outstripped, by those illustra- 
tions of the poem, the productions of Mr. James 
Thom, a self taught artist, who has, in his 26th 
year, started forth meteor-like as a master in the 
highest department of sculpture." 

Edinburgh Scotsman. 

Mr. Thom has now finished a complete group 
of figures from the Tale of Tam o' Shanter, 
by which the opening scene of the Poem is fully 
and forcibly illustrated. In addition to the hero of 
the Tale and " Souter Johnny," it consists of 
other two important personages,— the Landlord and 
Landlady of the Hospiiium where the jolly Farmer 
held his carousal on the eventful night of his 
rencontre with the *' hellish legion" of " ALloway's 
auld haunted kirk." The figures are all of the 
natural size. Tam's face is turned a little to the 
left, on which side the Landlady is placed, with a 
corresponding inclination of body ; and, judging 
from the " smirking smile" that curls her lip, she 
is very well pleased with the Farmer's gallantry. 



14 

The Souter appears to have been delivered of 
one of his M queerest stories." His waggish eye 
rests complacently on the Landlord, who his re- 
presented to be in convulsions of laughter at his 
friend's wit, and quite unconscious of the flirtation 
which is going on between his buxom wife, and 
Lis honoured guest. 

The Landlord is a round-bellied man, with his 
head thrown well back, that he may laugh the 
louder ; and in one hand he holds a horn half-full 
of ale, which he is apparently spilling, without 
being aware of his loss. The Landlady is an ex- 
cellent figure, and the attitude in which she is 
placed, is exceedingly characteristic of the duties 
of her office. She is seated on the front of an 
arm chair, not in the indolent attitude of one who 
dreams of repose, but in the active position of a 
person who has just sat down in the expectation of 
being immediately called upon to " answer the 
bell." Her right arm rests on the chair elbow, 
and her left hand, in which she has gathered her 
apron into graceful folds, rests upon her knee. 
Her body leans slightly forward; and while her 
face, which is turned towards Tam, is abundantly 
expressive of the good will she bears him, and the 
happiness of her present condition, her feet are so 
planted as to indicate her readiness, when called 
on, to rise and " fill another gill." She is adorned 
with a profusion of curls, and her head-dress con- 
sits of what was some sixty years since denomi- 



15 

nated, in Ayrshire, a "round-eared mutch', 7 
strapped to the head by a ribbon round the 
mid-piece. Her neck is bare, but over her 
shoulders and bosom is thrown a thin handkerchief, 
which disappears under the heavier fabric of a 
stuff gown — we suppose it to have been of that 
material — with short sleeves, frilled at the elbow, 
and leaving the arm below naked. Her apron, 
as in the days of our grandmothers, is tied round 
her body by a tc string case," and is finished with 
a frill ; and the whole comtume is executed with 
so much accuracy and good taste, that in the 
opinion of many it would not do the most tip-top 
mantua-maker discredit. We shall leave this 
point, however, as in duty bound, to the deter- 
mination of our fair readers, — only premising, 
that those who agree with us, will think the gown 
too closely fitted to the body, and not sufficiently 
ample in the skirt. 

(C Notwithstanding the acknowledged merit of 
Mr. Thom's first productions, it was the opinion of 
many persons well acquainted with the Fine Arts* 
that his ignorance of the conventional rules of 
Sculpture rendered his success in any new attempt 
highly problematical ; but his subsequent works 
have greatly shaken their force, and demonstrated 
how very easily genius can surmouut the obstacles 
that lie in its way. The Landlord and Landlady 
were thumped out of the rough block by the mere 
guidance of the Artist's unerring eye, unaided by 




16 II1I1II1IIIII 

014 154 992 3 £ 

models or drawings of any sort ; and if they do 

not raise him higher in the scale of Artists than 

he stood before, they will not, at least, deminish 

his fame." 

Edinburgh Literary Journal. 

" The Landlord is generally thought to equal, if 
not to surpass, any of the Artist's attempts. He is 
seated in his easy chair, his short pudding legs un- 
consciously extended before him, oblivious of every 
thing, even of his ale which is nearly escaping 
from the horn he holds — of every thing save that 
it is his part to laugh at every good thing, and that 
no bad thing is ever said by a good customer. 
So, there he sits, his unmeaning face turned up- 
ward, and his mouth gaping as if he laughed pro- 
fessionally and by the hour.' 1 

Air Advertiser. 




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